


Like a Couple of Question Marks

by Lisztful



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Remix Redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-14
Updated: 2010-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisztful/pseuds/Lisztful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remix of Zooey_glass' lovely fic, My Convex to Your Concave.  Autumn, and faith, and why some angels are different from others. Title from Ani DiFranco's 'Angel Food'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Couple of Question Marks

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My convex to your concave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018) by [Zooey_Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass). 



> Thanks to my swift and awesome beta, Erda!

It's fall, which maybe could've been Dean's favorite time of year if it weren't for the annual shitshow of Halloween. Even despite the various and sundry shitty things that have happened to him during the past few Octobers, Dean still kind of likes fall. There's something crisp and clean about it, cool air, the satisfaction of shrugging into the warmth of his favorite jacket, the heady crunch of dead leaves shifting under the heel of his boot. Dean's seen a helluva lot of things, understands the world at least as well as most of those poor schmucks out there, and yet he still can't fathom how the fall manages to make him feel this way; like there's just so much possibility.

That part's not actually in question, though. He has options. It's just the part where all possible choices lead to really, really bad shit, which for some reason he's having a hard time feeling right now. It's fall, and it's peacefully quiet nighttime, and Dean could get used to this.

Castiel's beside him. Dean knows it as well as he's ever known anything, but he still feels obligated to turn and look disgruntled, shooting a pointed glare in Cas' direction. It's not right that Cas has worked his way so far into Dean's mind that Dean just knows when he's around. Not right of Cas to belong, to fit so neatly into the long-fractured seams of him.

"You're thinking about Anna," says Castiel quietly, and it's true. Dean had been thinking about her. "Why?"

"Get out of my head," Dean says half-heartedly, mostly out of habit. Cas is in his head all the time, whether he means to be or not.

"Why are you thinking about Anna?" Castiel repeats, unfazed, and Dean shrugs.

"Just that time of year. Thinking about how Anna fell," he adds quietly. "Spending so much time with you, I gotta wonder what's different. The things you've done for me, killing other angels, even. But she fell and you haven't. Can't wrap my mind around it."

Castiel draws closer, near enough that their coatsleeves brush. Dean is always surprised by the weight of Cas, all that angel caught up in such a small body. He likes that, that Cas is compact enough to be caught up in his arms, but too vast to ever be contained, all at once. Not that Dean's ever tried to hold him in any sense of the word, of course. It's just a thought.

"Do you wish I had?" Cas asks. It sounds curious, but nothing else. Not upset. "Do you think I deserve to fall?"

"Shit," Dean says, scuffing at a pile of browned leaves. He can feel the delicate texture of them even through his boots, cracking, splintering, shuddering away to dust. "I didn't mean it like that. God knows I shouldn't be the judge of that." He laughs sharply. "_Especially_ God knows that."

"I wasn't asking you what God thinks," Castiel says mildly, but lets it go anyway, continuing, "It's a question of faith."

The little parking lot they're in is ringed by trees, and Castiel reaches out toward one, a beaten-looking trunk that looms up vast and old, fading into the darkness as it rises. His fingertips graze carefully over the whorls of its bark, and there's something almost reverent in it.

"Anna lost her faith," Castiel says after a moment. "I haven't lost mine. No matter what else I've lost, I still have that."

"I just-" Dean sighs, frustrated. He's not the college boy, and debates make him feel almost queasy. He's supposed to be the one who fixes problems, not the guy who sits around and causes them. "I don't get how you still have faith, after-" he sighs, too tired to say it all. "After everything. You're pissed at God, I know you are."

Castiel straightens, turning back to gaze at Dean in his slow, considering way. "I don't think you understand," he says quietly, and leans in closer. "What is it that you have faith in, Dean Winchester?"

Dean tucks his chin down toward his chest, suddenly feeling the chill. "Faith?" His choked off laugh sounds ugly against his own ears, but Castiel doesn't seem to notice. "I have faith that life'll deal you a shit hand, and people'll always leave the second they find something better." He chokes off another laugh. "And there's always somethin' better."

Castiel reaches out, brushing a hand down the length of Dean's neck, coming to rest over his pulse point. He keeps it there for a moment, just a ghost of a touch, and Dean feels his heart jump at the contact. He allows himself a luxurious moment of contemplating leaning into the surprising warmth and size of Castiel's hand.

"Listen," Castiel murmurs, and it sounds like a command despite his unusually gentle tone. "Don't look to your human texts for direction. Perhaps the names are correct, but the spirit is all wrong. Faith is so much simpler than it's made out to be. It's knowing day will follow night, that the seasons will change and the sun will warm your face, and that you can pick out those stars you humans have given names to, Orion, Cassiopeia." He's looking upward, his jaw a fine, straight line that cuts through the darkness. "It is," he glances back down at Dean with a tiny smile, "Knowing that Dean Winchester will never cease to be surprising."

Dean shudders in a breath, and for a moment it all seems so insurmountable. That really is faith though, he supposes, knowing that his body's gonna just keep on going, breathing, working. Some day it won't, maybe someday soon if the apocalypse keeps on happening, but for now it does and that's enough. He's got a brother sleeping in a quiet motel room, Cas here beside him, a deserted parking lot, the autumn, and he's breathing. Maybe that's enough. It's something, at least.

He's never been good at just taking what he's offered, though. "Okay, some of that stuff I get," he says. "But I'm not different than I was when Anna knew me. Still the same me, just maybe more tired of it all. Anna had me. I mean, she _had_ me. Didn't seem to help her at all."

Castiel shrugs, a shockingly casual gesture that he must have picked up from Sam. "It's just different," he says. "For Anna, you were a symbol of falling. For me-" he purses his lips, draws his brow up tight. "You're what keeps me aloft."

Dean sure as hell isn't touching that one. This goes way beyond possibilities, way into the realm of things he tries not to ever hope for. He aims for a change in topic, something to lighten the mood.

"So the sex stuff, it's, uh, all about falling?" Yeah, real smooth there, Dean, that's maybe forbidden topic number one. He sucks at tact.

Cas chuckles. Maybe he can see the stuff going through Dean's mind, but maybe he's just amused by the question. "No. I assure you, whereever God is, sex isn't and never has been something that bothered him. As for why we do it, remove procreation and it's not so different from why you do it. Comfort, desire, sometimes even love. Fear," he adds, as if it's an afterthought, but it's accompanied by a pointed nod at Dean.

"But you've never-" Dean says, trailing off.

"With a human?" Cas shakes his head. "Until recently, I believed I would harm anyone so fragile as a human. Lately, though, that's been less of an issue." He chuckles dryly, and Dean's throat feels tight at the thought of Cas joking over his very serious loss of power.

"Is it something you actually want?" Dean asks. He's going for casual curiosity, scientific interest, but damn if his voice doesn't come out a bit shaky.

"Dean," Cas says, and of all ways to be he sounds amused. "Humans always think they can ask things without ever saying them. You perform exorcisms, summonings, even blessings. You should know the power of words."

"Yeah," Dean says, and shoves a hand through his hair. "Power. That's what I'm afraid of."

Cas steps forward, too close. "You have so many things to fear, Dean Winchester, why worry so much over the one thing you actually want?"

Dean sucks in a weak gasp of a breath. It feels strange, like he's pulling the air directly off Castiel's mouth. "Not the only thing I want," he argues, but then gives in. "You been good to me. To us. Started out as kind of a dick, but since then you've changed a lot. The way you just throw yourself at things that wanna hurt me, even when I don't do anything to deserve it. It's, uh," he shrugs awkwardly. "It's getting really hard to not expect you to have my back when I need you. And that's bad. That's real bad." His cheeks feel suspiciously warm, and the bite of the evening wind is welcome. His words hang in the air, all shoved together in that slow honey-molasses voice he gets when he loses sight of the grit and pain of everyday life. He's always thought it made him sound too young, too soft, but it doesn't happen very often anymore, anyway.

"Ah," Castiel says, and then again, like he wants to make sure Dean understands the importance of whatever else he's about to say.

"What?" Dean says irritably.

"Your faith," Castiel says mysteriously, and there's a hint of a smile quirking his lips. "Your faith lies in me. It's fragile, but it's there. You're afraid I'll shatter it."

Dean shifts, but it just brings him more fully into Castiel's space. He doesn't want to move back so it leaves him at a strange angle, too much weight pressed forward. His chest feels tight, and his hands are fisted at his sides.

"No," he tries, "It's not like that."

"Again you try to tell me something with the wrong words," Castiel says. He sighs, bringing his hands up to bracket Dean's face, and he should really move away, but he doesn't want to, damn it. "I need to know if you want this, or if you truly don't, but not if you think you're supposed to not want it."

"What?" Dean mumbles stupidly, even though he already knows what's coming, already feels the deep thrum of nervous want.

"I already told you not to listen to what other people think my father cares about," Cas says, and then they're kissing, a slow, sweet brushing of lips that feels so high-school but also so exactly as far as Dean can possibly imagine a kiss ever going. Cas' palms are warm against his face, a contrast to the cold space between their bodies. He almost has to lean out on his toes to keep the kiss going, but he doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to change anything lest he mess something up. He's so good at messing things up.

"Dean," Cas murmurs against his mouth, "Dean, stop." It's impatient, the same way Cas used to sound when Dean explained things like the merits of the Impala over angel-mojo transport. He jerks back, instinctively, because Cas is telling him to stop and it's exactly what he was afraid of, exactly what happens when he closes his eyes and lets someone else take over for even a second.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, and tries to pull away, biting down hard on his lower lip. The pain is good, familiar. It centers him the way Sammy's pop psychology breathing exercises never could.

"_No_," Castiel says, and it's a sharp, vehement sound, almost a hiss. He's not letting go, in fact he's dragging Dean closer, across the at most ten or twelve inch void between them. "I meant stop worrying," he says, more gently, and then he leans in and drops a kiss at the edge of Dean's lips. It's the seam of his mouth, Castiel always gets in at the seams. "Let me," Castiel says, a fierce whisper, and then they're really kissing and oh god, but it's good.

Dean shifts, letting Castiel tilt his head back just slightly. Cas is a little smaller than him, but somehow he's got Dean's knees feeling strange and weak, and then its so easy to just lean into him and let Castiel take his weight, his fear, any number of other things that settle over him every morning, ringing dark circles under his always-weary eyes. Cas shudders and gasps his name, dragging a hand around the back of his head. It's a startling combination of fierce want and incredible tenderness, and since Dean has no idea how to begin to think about that, he just groans and pushes closer, drags Castiel's arm more tightly around him. He seals their lips together again, a slow push of tongue against teeth, and abruptly realizes that his dick is hard and heavy, pressed up against the smooth length of Castiel's flank. He shifts, angling his thigh, and is gratified to feel the heat and hardness of Cas' dick. He wants it just as bad as Dean does.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mumbles, unable to stop the laugh that slips out after it, vibrating against Castiel's still parted lips. He turns them slightly, steps backward toward the big old tree Cas had seemed to like so much. Castiel stops him gently with a hand on the back of his neck, keeping him from jarring his head against the trunk. When he leans in again, his kisses have gone gentle, soft and slow and thorough, as though he's trying to say something but no words will do. Funny, all that talk about saying what you want, and now Cas can't do it either.

Castiel paints a slow line down his jaw, tongue and lips followed by just the faintest hint of teeth. He trails lower, mouthing at Dean's neck and drawing a stream of startled noises from him. Dean struggles briefly against the agonizing, electric goodness of it, then gives it up, sagging into Castiel's outstretched arms. Cas is close enough that he's still pressed up against the tree, and it's enough contact that a slow twist of his hip allows him to rub over the hard line of Castiel's dick, making him groan and bite down just a little harder. Dean lets his head fall backward against the rough grooves of the tree bark, baring his neck even further.

The hard, hot pressure of Cas' dick is too much to resist, so Dean scrabbles at his pants, trying to work the button loose. Castiel makes a high, sudden noise at the contact, but his hand comes down solidly around Dean's, holding him still. "Not like this," Cas says, and it's firm despite the slightly frantic edge to his voice. "You deserve better than this."

Dean's already learned that it's not much use arguing with Castiel, but compromise is still an option. "Okay," he says shakily, and leans forward to rest his forehead on Castiel's shoulder. "Okay, just give me a minute." It's tough, but he makes himself slip out of Castiel's grasp, shoving his hands in his pockets as he hurries over to the Impala. Sam started keeping blankets in the trunk ages ago, which Dean knows because there'd been a big fight about how Dean thought jackets were more than enough, ending with Sam spending a sulky hour in wal-mart buying a load of what he thereafter referred to as emergency bedding. Dean's thankful for it now, though, and he loads up everything he can find, staggering back to the edge of the parking lot with a pile of bedding.

The border of the lot is grassy, and Dean spreads out the blankets there. Sam's huge and buys bedding to match, so there's more than enough surface area for him and Cas to curl together atop the largest quilt, leaving a few smaller ones to wrap around the both of them. Cas watches him arrange this, a soft look caught upon his face.

"C'mon," Dean says finally, from where he's kneeling on the makeshift bed. He puts out a hesitant hand. Castiel takes it, letting himself be pulled down to cover Dean with his warmth, to press along the length of his body and slide, leaving a trail of shivers in his wake. "Now?" Dean asks breathlessly, and Castiel laughs, bright and bell-like. "Now."

It's slow and easy, Castiel wrapping a hand around him and dragging careful, pleading moans from somewhere deep inside Dean's chest. He's all around Dean, press of hipbones and softer belly, surprisingly muscled shoulders and the sharp point of his chin where Cas drops to rest on Dean's chest as Dean's hand wraps around his cock. It's even better then, the push-pull of Cas' hand and his own, of finding a rhythm for both of them, a place where they can both feel this together and Dean can give even as he takes. God, he can't even separate his own want from Castiel's, he's so wrapped up in the little musical sounds he makes, the way he twitches into every touch. Dean's making him feel that way, he realizes, and rides that high all the way until he's coming into Castiel's slick, perfect hand.

Afterward, Cas doesn't even give him a chance to protest, just gathers Dean up in his arms and draws up the blankets around them. It's maybe around one in the morning, maybe later, and Cas tilts Dean's chin up, pointing up at the stars. "See?" he says. "It's all about faith." Dean knows he isn't really talking about the sky, but he goes with it anyway.

"Which one's the house?" he asks, squinting at the stars. They slowly rearrange, like a vast magic eye puzzle, spelling out one of the dippers, he's not sure which, and Orion's belt.

"I don't know what you mean," Castiel says, and doesn't seem at all bothered by his ignorance.

"I can't remember what it's really called," Dean says, and it's nice to be able to talk so softly. He can whisper the words right into Castiel's ear if he wants. "But, you know, it looks like a house." He lifts Cas' hand from where it's resting heavy and warm against his side, touching his palm in mimicry of the points of the constellation then connecting it all with a lazy slide of his index finger. "Looks like that."

Castiel exhales, slow and steady. "Ah. That's Cepheus. The king."

"The house, too," Dean says stubbornly. It's hard to be prickly when he's relaxed into Castiel's lazy embrace, though. "How do you know about this, anyway? Thought that was all human stuff."

Castiel makes an airy gesture, probably another thing he picked up from Sam, and lets his hand drop on Dean's head, gently passing over the back of his neck in what's not quite hard enough to be a massage, but still feels nice. "I read. I always liked those stories. It isn't so long for angels, but for humans, the stars have had those names for a long time. I always found it a comfort, to see them and know that your race still cared about those old kings and warriors."

"You were a warrior, too," Dean says quietly.

"I still am," Castiel counters, and pulls him a little closer.

"It can be a house, too, if you want," Castiel says, after they've lain silently for a time.

"Dude, it doesn't really matter," Dean says, embarrassed. "You know the real stories."

"It does matter though," Castiel says. "I want you to have that. It's a place you can always look up at and have, a place in the stars. You remind me of them," he adds, and Dean's sure he must be imagining the faintly embarrassed tinge to his voice. "You're brighter than you know."

"Says the angel," Dean says, and as Cas' arms come up around him to draw him even closer, he looks up at the sky. He's got a brother, an angel, and a house in the stars, and maybe that's all the faith he needs.


End file.
